Daughters of Castle Deverill Read Online Free Page A

her hair and that fool Celia Deverill who had asked her, ‘How do you survive in winter without any shoes?’ and then the girls at school who had called her a tinker for wearing the
dancing shoes Lady Deverill had given her after her father’s death, and the seed of resentment that had rooted itself in her heart sprouted yet another shoot to stifle the sweetness there.
Her great wealth gave her a heady sense of power.
No one will dare call me a tinker again
, she told herself as she took the place beside her brother,
for I am a lady now and I command
their respect
.
    It wasn’t until she was lighting a candle at the end of Mass that she was struck with a daring yet brilliant idea. If Kitty didn’t allow her to see her child she would simply take
him. It wouldn’t be stealing because you couldn’t steal what already belonged to you.
She
was his mother; it was right and natural that he should be with
her
. She
would take him to America and start a new life. It was so obvious she couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t thought of it before. She smiled, blowing out the little flame at the end of the
taper. Of course such inspiration had come directly from God. She had been given it at the very moment she had lit the candle for her son.
That
was no coincidence; it was divine
intervention, for sure. She silently crossed herself and thanked the Lord for his compassion.
    Outside, the locals gathered together on the wet grass as they always did, to greet one another and share the gossip, but today they stood in a semicircle like a herd of timid cows, curious eyes
trained on the church door, eagerly awaiting the extravagantly dressed Bridie Doyle to flounce out in her newly acquired finery. In hushed tones they could talk of nothing else: ‘They say she
married a rich old man.’ ‘But he died, God rest his soul, and left her a fortune.’ ‘He was eighty.’ ‘He was ninety, for shame.’ ‘She always had ideas
above her station, did she not?’ ‘Ah ha, she’ll be after another husband now, God save us.’ ‘But none of our sons will be good enough for her now.’ The old
people crossed themselves and saw no virtue in her prosperity, for wasn’t it written in Matthew that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter
the Kingdom of God? But the young were both resentful and admiring in equal measure and longed with all their hearts to sail as Bridie had done to this land of opportunity and plenty and make
fortunes for themselves.
    When Bridie stepped out she was startled to find the people of Ballinakelly huddled in a jumble, waiting to see her as if she were royalty. A hush fell about them and no one made a move to meet
her. They simply stared and muttered to each other under their breaths. Bridie swept her eyes over the familiar faces of those she had grown up with and found in them a surprising shyness. For a
moment she was self-conscious and anxiously looked around for a friend. That was when she saw Jack O’Leary.
    He was pushing through the throng, smiling at her reassuringly. His dark brown hair fell over his forehead as it always had, and his pale wintry eyes shone out blue and twinkling with their
habitual humour. His lips were curled and Bridie’s heart gave a little start at the intimacy in his smile. It took her back to the days when they had been friends. ‘Jack!’ she
uttered when he reached her.
    He took her arm and walked her across the graveyard to a place far from the crowd where they could speak alone. ‘Well, would you look at you, Bridie Doyle,’ he said, shaking his head
and rubbing the long bristles on his jaw. ‘Don’t you look like a lady now!’
    Bridie basked in his admiration. ‘I
am
a lady, I’ll have you know,’ she replied and Jack noticed how her Irish vowels had been worn thin in America. ‘I’m a
widow. My husband died,’ she added and crossed herself. ‘God rest my husband’s soul.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear